Lies
by Sardonic Kender Smile
Summary: When Kent's actions to defend Lyndis from a terrible occurence brand him as a traitor, he must create a web of lies to protect the only thing more important to him than his honor: HER honor. /KentxLyn, obviously./


_A/N: Well, I was going to blame everybody else for this, but I guess it's my own dumb fault. Because if I hadn't opened my mouth and jokingly theorized that every KentxLyn fan has wanted to write one of them drunk at least ONCE, Kitten Kisses wouldn't have taken me seriously and turned it into a challenge. And Qieru and Xirysa and LittleGreenBudgie wouldn't have told her that it was an excellent idea. And they all wouldn't have forced me to write one too. _

_So, in the long run, be ashamed of me. Not the terrible influences behind the curtain._

_Also, I'll be frank...the beginning of this is boring. My apologies._

* * *

_**Lies**_

Lyndis still had a bit of trouble with custom.

Kent could hardly blame her, of course. She already knew how to waltz, what to eat with which spoon, and how to address and introduce lords and ladies of different statures—how could anyone look down on her for not knowing every nuance and practice of lives she hadn't even known existed for the first eighteen years of her own? Still, the disapproval was there in their eyes, in the way they clucked their tongues and shook their heads whenever she bowed back to a lesser noble or crunched an ice cube from her empty glass. Sometimes it made Kent's heart sink, to know that even though she had been throwing herself into Lycian court life since Nergal's death to please her grandfather, she still had quite a way to go and quite a few things to learn. She merely held her head high and persevered, day by day. Perhaps it was because of this attitude that Kent didn't realize until it was too late that not knowing certain customs could be a dangerous, _dangerous_ thing.

Especially the practice of never refusing an offered drink, in the name of politeness.

As spring began to melt away into summer, Lord Hausen hosted a gala for a small assortment of nobles from different regions of Lycia. Lyndis was expected to mingle, of course, and learn the names and faces of the people she would be dealing with for the rest of her life. Kent saw the look in her eyes at such a prospect—reluctant and trapped—but he never dared to say anything to her. He knew that she adjusted herself from her beloved memories of Sacae willingly, happily, for her grandfather's own happiness—she had little time left with him, after all.

He saw that joy in Hausen's eyes as he stood rigidly by the doorway to the ballroom. The marquess of Caelin looked at his granddaughter with a mixture of love and pride, and Kent couldn't help but to be a bit proud of Lyn, too—or, rather, proud _for_ her, since he couldn't really claim any part of her. He sighed and adjusted the itchy cuffs of his brick-red doublet, resenting the fact that as the Knight Commander of Caelin's forces, he was obliged to attend such political events and wear such formal clothing. Usually he preferred the vague familiarity of his dress armor, but the gilded metal had disappeared earlier that day. Kent suspected a certain lance-wielding, woman-chasing _imp_ who had been complaining of late that Kent should care a bit more about his appearance. The knight sighed and ran a hand through his auburn hair, gripping his own lance—part of his outfit as Commander--more tightly.

He watched a man walk up to Lyndis and offer her a glass of red wine—Erik of Laus was the noble's name, he remembered after a moment. Lyn didn't seem to want to take it, but it would have been rude of her not to. Erik began to talk to her, and she nodded and smiled in a pained sort of way and sipped at her wine, since she couldn't neglect it with him standing there before her. He chatted with her until only the dregs of her glass remained, and after glancing her over in a way that Kent did not like at _all_, nodded to her in farewell and disappeared into the crowd. A while later, another noble approached Lyn—blonde, blue-eyed, and lithe. Kent recognized him as the count of Tuscana as another glass of wine was pressed into Lyn's hands, as another long stretch of time passed where she was forced to drink it and enjoy his company. When she had finished her glass, he begged her leave with an elegant bow and retreated back into the crowd.

Kent frowned slightly and began to make his way towards her, passing the count on his way to her to find that he was conversing with Erik of Laus and three others—a thin and dark-haired man that Kent was fairly sure was a minor baron of Santaruz, and two burly youths that he didn't recognize. They looked like a gaggle of school boys, laughing together and jostling each other, their faces already slightly flushed with drink.

"Milady," Kent murmured when he finally reached Lyn's side. She smiled as she turned her head towards him.

"Kent, there you are! Sain told me that he—that you had…misplaced your dress armor. I was wondering if you would even show up at all without it."

"Of course, my lady," he assured her. "My duty is to be here—whether or not I am permitted to dress down for the occasion."

"Do you need me for something?" she asked, her eyes flicking to the other side. Kent followed her gaze to find Baron Santaruz making his way towards them with…more wine. Lyn reached out and touched his shoulder without looking at him, almost desperately. "Please say you need me. Start a conversation."

"My lady," he said discreetly into her ear, "I understand that you only have manners in mind, but…you do not have to drink _all_ of the wine you are presented with. Simply take a sip, wait for your guest to leave, and dispose of the glass."

"It's not that simple!" she hissed back. "The past two didn't leave, and I had to keep—ah, Lord Ilrich."

The tone of her voice instantly became silk-smooth as she cordially greeted the approaching lord. Kent glanced at her worriedly before slipping away.

It was hard for him to keep his eyes off of her, that night. He still wasn't accustomed to seeing her Sacaen clothing exchanged for a formal dress, or her long hair pinned up in the newest and most elaborate style…but this time, there was something else that demanded his attention. The five men continued to walk up to speak to her, sometimes singularly, sometimes in pairs, and they also continued to present her with drinks. Kent could see that Lyn tried to take his advice and set her glass down somewhere after a couple of sips—she even made an excuse to leave and do so, once or twice—but the men were relentless. Kent wondered if they were trying to woo her—the dapper Count Tuscana seemed especially keen, smiling at every word that left her mouth, his eyes always flickering between her own eyes and her lips. Although Kent tried his hardest, he had soon lost count of how much Lyn had had to drink. She was already clearly tipsy—her new acquaintances were, as well.

_Ah_, Kent realized, _but they are also all young, handsome, rich, educated…speaking to her, listening to her...how very lucky. _His last thought came dryly. Kent always knew that he and Lyndis wouldn't be suited for each other, but usually tried to suppress the fact that he resented such knowledge. She had grown far closer to him than she should have, during the war, and he had come to hold her more dearly than was befitting of his low station. He tried to deny the fact that it hurt, watching these other men flirt with her, capturing her heart; watching her sway towards them with her usual reckless smile. The pain built up in his chest until it was nearly physical, until he could hardly stand it anymore. He needed to go stretch his legs out in the hallway, to clear his head. He felt a pang of guilt as he slipped out the door, knowing that Lyndis was growing steadily more intoxicated and would have no one to supervise her in his absence—Hausen had retired to his room an hour ago, as he wearied quickly nowadays—but for the moment, Kent couldn't stand another minute in the ballroom.

The cool darkness of the hallway was a welcome relief as he strode away from the light and the noise at his back. The fact that the castle corridors were mostly unoccupied as everyone within was either asleep, guarding the ramparts, or in the ballroom only made him feel more at peace. He knew that he had to be back soon to persuade Lyndis to head to her chambers for the night, since it would be nothing short of a calamity for any of the sober nobles to see her if she became truly _drunk_, but he intended to find a way to keep his mind off of her in the short meantime. He was contemplating finding Sain, who never failed to distract him (especially when he had something urgent to do), but he knew what his friend would say…

_Why aren't you in there with her? Of_ course _she's going to get away if you never act! No, Kent, don't give me that face. She's gorgeous. Admit it. You wouldn't be this loyal to anyone else._

_Lies,_ Kent tried to tell himself as he strode down the hallway, pounding the butt of his lance softly against the floor each time the word ran through his head. _Lies, lies, lies._ The attempt was futile—he already knew full well how he felt about her. Every day he fell a little harder. At first he was content just to be at her side, but lately—especially considering the attentions of the men in the ballroom—he hadn't been happy in such a place, at all.

His worry for Lyn spiking and his walk having done little to calm his thoughts, Kent began making his way back to the ballroom. On the way there, however, he heard something that made him stop short: the voice of Lyn herself.

"What're you doing?"

Her voice was weak, slurred, and far away. Kent quickened his pace until he rounded the corner…and found a sight at the end of the long hallway that made him freeze with dismay and disbelief.

Lyndis was surrounded by the five men from the ballroom, forced against the wall by the blonde one—Count Tuscana. He pressed the entire length of his body against hers, and Kent could see her weak thrash of resistance even from his end of the corridor.

"Stop that," she said, her voice indignant and high—though it only made her sound like a child. She lifted her chin; the noble pinning her to the wall took advantage of that to brush his lips against her neck. Lyn's brow furrowed slightly in confusion before she finally gave her delayed reaction: a shudder.

"Stop…" she mumbled again, but her voice was drowned out by the raucous laughter and jealous jeers of the other men:

"Oy, save some for us!"

"There's plenty left," Count Tuscana returned irritably from over his shoulder. His fingers went for the laces at Lyn's bodice. She wriggled out of his grip and tried to run, but stumbled—he caught her up again easily, forcing his knee between her legs, sliding a hand over her breasts as he went to untie her dress again. She closed her hands around his wrists, her grip too weak to stop him, and uttered a sound of protest, though it was so lethargic and confused that Kent wondered if she even knew what she was protesting. The lecherous noble cut her off by kissing her mouth hard.

"Stop!" cried Kent suddenly, and as the word burst from his mouth, his limbs finally recovered from their horrified paralysis. He sprinted down the corridor towards the group, clutching his lance tightly, his blood churning in a molten frenzy of anger. "Stop that!"

Count Tuscana barely even glanced up from Lyn. "She's fine, she knows we're only looking to have a good time," he muttered once he withdrew his lips from hers, causing her to close her eyes and make a face at the stench of his breath. "Besides…you _like_ it, don't you, you little slut?"

"C'mon," Erik of Laus pleaded, pulling his friend off of Lyn and solidly ignoring Kent, who was now speechless with fury. "Let me go first!"

He made as if to pull Lyn to him, but Kent quickly forced himself between the group of nobles and his lady, pushing her back against the wall while he stood protectively before her.

"Leave her alone," he growled through gritted teeth.

The lord of Tuscana looked confused with Kent's attitude. "Did you want a turn with her too, mate? All you had to do was say so--"

"I want no such thing!" Kent hissed, and felt himself flush crimson. "You all are to leave her alone!"

"Hey, who are you?" another noble asked, scowling suddenly and peering at Kent with unfocused, beady eyes. The others soon rallied to his verbal attack:

"Yeah, who are you, anyway?"

"What authority do _you_ have?"

"What are you ruining our fun for, eh?"

"I am a knight of Caelin," Kent answered firmly. "_Her _knight. And I shall have to ask you to leave the premises immediately. You _will not touch her_." He spat out his last words with so much venom that his voice almost cracked. The nobles looked largely unimpressed with his mandate.

"And how are you going to stop us?" Count Tuscana asked, arching a blonde eyebrow in a superior fashion.

Kent met his gaze, set his jaw, and lifted his lance into a defensive stance. He was ready to fight for her—willing to slay all of the men in the corridor, no matter how rich or powerful, no matter if they outnumbered him five to one. Their eyes all widened after a moment, their reactions slowed by their drunkenness.

"You wouldn't," said one of them.

"I will do everything in my power," Kent returned, challenging.

The count's face, previously soured with disappointment and anger, quickly turned smug. "Even treason, it would seem."

Kent faltered for a fraction of a second, casting his eyes down to the sharp steel point of his lance.

"Yes," the man continued, "You've broken your own code of honor—you've turned your weapon against a lord."

"You were going to hurt Lady Lyndis!" Kent retorted fiercely. He felt his entire body begin to tremble as his anger burned deeper and deeper. _You were all going to_ rape _her, defile her, one by one, while she is in no condition to defend herself—_

"Hurt her?" Erik asked incredulously. "She was asking for this—begging us!"

"What lies are you spewing?" Kent demanded, narrowing his eyes. Erik merely shrugged.

"Well, she hardly complained when we brought her out here!"

"That's because she's--!" Kent quickly cut himself off, biting his lip. It wouldn't do to go shouting throughout the hallways that Lyndis was drunk…his main duty at this moment was to protect her honor, and in every sense of the word.

"Oh," said Count Tuscana after a long moment of silence. "I see. You're simply frustrated that you've never lain with her yourself, yet she hardly resists _us_ when we're going to take her by turns--"

"No!" Kent cried in horror, but the noble kept going, describing every terrible thing that they were planning to do to her, raising his voice even despite Kent's desperate, insubordinate commands for him to be silent. The knight was shaking violently, terrified for Lyn, his insides writhing with wrath.

"Yes," the blonde man jeered, "We're going to have our way with her until she _passes out_, and even _then_ we might not have had enough--"

"I shall kill you, first!" shouted Kent, and immediately thrust his lance towards the man's heart. His panic and emotion had made him too hasty—he missed his intended target, wounding the man's left shoulder instead.

The other men in the corridor were silent for a while. The blonde noble didn't seem to feel any pain at first, and merely stared at the blood rapidly staining his tunic with a sense of vague interest. Then his liquor-slowed senses seemed to register that he had been hurt, and his face contorted gruesomely as he cried out. Kent's own senses felt dulled at the moment, unable to process the fact that he had just spilled a noble's blood.

"Get 'im!" one of his companions yelled suddenly, breaking his reverie, and the burliest of the group rushed for Kent. He quickly flipped his spear around and hit the man hard in the gut with the butt end, suddenly frightened of drawing more blood. His attacker doubled over with a groan, and another noble was about to throw a punch at him, but the wounded count pressed a hand to his shoulder and ordered,

"No, don't touch him! We can do much worse than bloody his nose!"

His friends stopped to stare at him and his lips spread into an infuriating smirk.

"I wonder if Marquess Caelin might want to know about this incident," he said, glaring at Kent, daring him to make a move. The red knight bristled as a shiver ran down his spine. _Not milord Hausen! I would die of shame! _

"Yeah," said the largest noble, still clutching his stomach and looking up with a wince. "He'd be court marshaled for sure!"

"For a fine or demotion?" the blonde noble asked, grinning despite the blood now welling up from between his fingers. "A discharge from the army of Caelin? No…no, this man would be put to death."

Laughing amongst themselves, the men hurried away, eagerly plotting how and when Kent would lose his life. The knight longed to sprint after them, to stop them all before they could slander his name and frame him for a crime that was committed with pure intentions…but he did not. He sighed and shook his head and fought to calm his trembling. Lyndis was far, far more important at the moment.

A hand brushed clumsily against his sleeve, interrupting his thoughts, and he turned quickly to find that Lyn—who had been leaning weakly against the wall and watching the scene through glazed eyes—was now staring up at him as if trying to remember a long-forgotten friend. Her eyes were dazed, the blank gaze of a woman utterly lost.

"Kent?" she whispered.

"…Oh, milady," he said softly, and quickly pulled her into a sheltering embrace. Under any other circumstance he would not have been so forward, but he had been so frightened for her…and her eyes were so confused. "Milady, are you all right? Did they hurt you?"

"Dizzy," she mumbled. Her body melded easily into his arms, pressing against his own—drink had slackened her muscles, Kent realized a second after he had already instinctively tightened his arms around her.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered to her, stroking her hair reassuringly, although he wasn't sure if she needed reassuring. "I wasn't fast enough to stop this from the start; I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"Stop that," she told him, her words slurring together as she jabbed a finger into his chest. "You're always apologizing. You need to stop."

"I need to get you back to your room, my lady," he corrected her quietly. "Come along…"

He released her, but held out his arm for her to take. She didn't accept it, choosing instead to irately fold her arms and wobble on the spot.

"I don't want to!"

"Lady Lyndis, please--"

"I have to see Grandfather!" she retorted. "That's why I'm at this bloody dance—because he wanted me here!"

_Bloody?_ Kent almost smiled at hearing the expletive leave her mouth, but stopped himself just in time—_Right, of course, a lady shouldn't use such language. Elimine, this is going to be quite a night…_

Kent knew that in order for her to find Lord Hausen, Lyn would have to get back into the ballroom and past the scrutinizing gazes of all the other nobles. His heart clenched at the thought…how could she _possibly_ do a thing like that? She was undeniably drunk. The other lords and ladies were bound to notice, and gossip, and look down upon her…why, it would be an outright scandal. Kent couldn't allow that to happen.

"You can see your grandfather tomorrow," he assured her gently. "For now, however, it is best that you retire for the night."

She didn't move or seem to react to his words at all. Kent gently took her hand, causing her crossed arms to fall limply to her sides as she followed him down the hallway like a lost lamb. As he led her, Kent prayed that no one would spot them in the hallways, would notice her tipsy gait…until they got to the stone spiral staircase that would lead them up two floors and to the landing with her chambers, where he was confronted with something else to pray about. After merely a few stairs, when the staircase began to circle in upon itself in a way that always made Kent's head spin slightly, Lyndis suddenly fell. He caught her before she could start slipping down the stairs—before she could hurt herself—and scooped her up into his arms. That was more difficult than it should have been, as the lack of tension in her body made her heavier to carry, and Kent was soon faced with another problem: how could he get up the stairs with her without losing his balance?

"Hold on to me, milady," he murmured, and Lyn wound her arms around his neck, her clouded eyes baffled—no doubt by the delayed sensation of falling. Once she had started clinging to him, Kent used one arm to carry her and placed his other hand on the brass balustrade that wound up the length of the staircase, thanking the good Saint that Lyn was a small woman. She rested her head on his shoulder as he began ascending, and he tried to force himself to concentrate on not dropping her or falling backwards, rather than the warmth of her breath seeping through his shirt. He managed to make it to the top without incident…although Lyn seemed to have suddenly decided that it would be a good idea to press a kiss to his throat while he was on the second-to-last step, which almost sent him tumbling back down to the bottom. He hurried forward until they were both out of danger, while her lips started traveling up his jaw.

"Don't do that," he chastised her softly. She might not have listened, but the lack of a staircase meant that Kent could use both arms to hold her again, and the shift in weight pulled her lips away from his face. He lengthened his strides as she scowled and put her head back on his shoulder. She _clearly_ wasn't herself, he told himself, even as his heart began to race at the mere remembrance of those tiny kisses. The sooner he got her back to her rooms, the better!

"But there were lots of kisses tonight," she retorted quietly. Kent shuddered with anger and pressed his lips together, not trusting himself to say anything. Lyn didn't seem to notice—she absentmindedly traced the stitching up by his collar with a fingertip and kept talking. "His breath smelled awful."

"I'm sorry," Kent whispered again, and shut his eyes tightly. He couldn't bear to look at her, at the full lips that had spoken of justice and equality, at the heavy-lidded green eyes that earlier today had been so bright and clear.

Lyn rolled those eyes and gave a long, exaggerated groan to let him know exactly what she thought about him apologizing again. Kent didn't care—he would continue to do so, he knew, until he had found a way to rectify his negligence. As he was ruminating on what exactly that way might be, he turned a corner and almost ran right into a slender youth in the uniform of Caelin's archery division.

"Wil!" gasped Kent, thankful that the smaller brunette had dodged out of the way in time to avoid a collision—with Lyn in his arms, Kent couldn't be half so nimble.

"Hey, Commander Kent!" Wil greeted cheerfully, "What--?"

The archer suddenly stopped short, gaping at the fact that Kent was carrying a woman in his arms, and his jaw only dropped further when he saw _who_ that lady was.

"Lady Lyn, what's the matter?"

"She hurt her ankle," said Kent hurriedly, before Lyn had a chance to answer for himself. "And, er, can't walk."

"That's not true!" Lyn exclaimed lazily, kicking a foot up. "My ankles are fine!"

"No, no, you twisted one," Kent hissed to her.

"You're a liar, Kent…liar, liar liar…"

She had started singing the word to herself over and over, and Kent could only chuckle nervously at Wil. "Aha…yes, well, you know how our Lady Lyndis is…always so reluctant to admit defeat…"

"A sprained ankle is a formidable opponent, though," teased Wil. "You shouldn't be ashamed of that, Lady Lyn—you couldn't have seen it coming!"

Kent cleared his throat. "Yes. But the situation is under control now. You may be on your way, Wil."

The archer's brown eyes filled with hesitant concern. "Are you sure? Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Yes--" Lyn started to say, but Kent quickly cut her off:

"No, no, it's fine. Thank you, Wil, you are dismissed."

"Umm…okay…feel better, then, Lady Lyn!" Wil still looked a bit perturbed, but he gave them both a cheerful smile and a snappy salute before continuing down the corridor.

"Why did you lie?" Lyn asked Kent, far too loudly. He quickly began walking again, before Wil could hear her. "I feel _fine_…my feet are _fine_…why did you--"

He shushed her quickly, gently, and she irritably kicked her feet up once in a flurry of pale skirts before she reverted back to her pout.

He managed to get her to her room without another incident, and couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief as he finally nudged open her elaborately carved oaken door with his foot and stepped into the threshold. Although Lyn's chambers were not nearly as extensive as her grandfather's, Kent had to pass through a receiving room to reach her vast bedchamber. She looked around dazedly as he did so, asking him why they were back in her room.

"It is time for you to go to sleep, milady," he told her in a whisper.

Her room was lit with a dim and comfortable light, as the white moonlight was shut out by linen curtains and cheery orange candle flames flickered from each corner, where a gilded candelabra stood. Kent quickly made for her large and canopied bed, sure that as soon as he set her down, she would be able to fall asleep.

"It's not bedtime," she said with a frown. "It can't be. The maids spent so long making me look pretty…if I go to bed, I'll ruin my hair and they'll be cross…"

"They'll forgive you," Kent chuckled quietly. She still looked troubled, her rosy face screwed up like she was trying to remember something important, so he gently assured her, "And you always look pretty. Don't worry about that."

She lit up at that, squeezing his neck in a happy embrace. "And _you're_ handsome!"

Kent felt himself blush to the tips of his ears, and nervously cleared his throat. "Don't let the drink speak for you, milady."

"You're _so_ handsome," she repeated with a soft smile as he carefully lowered her to the bed. Kent didn't respond, knowing better than to take her seriously. She just closed her eyes and mumbled his name several times, still smiling.

Suddenly, Kent realized that something was wrong. Where were her handmaids? Where were the servants to ready her for bed, to put her to sleep, to make sure that she stayed in her room for the night? He groaned aloud before he could stop himself.

"My lady, please tell me that you didn't order them to take the night off _again--_"

"Tell who what?" she asked faintly, laconically opening her eyes.

"The servants! Where are they?"

"I hate being waited on," Lyn insisted, and flung her arms out on the bed so that for a moment she looked like a dying bird in freefall.

"My lady, did you--"

"Hate it," she repeated, "Hate it, hate it, _hate_ it."

Kent gritted his teeth and leaned against her nightstand for a moment, thinking. He knew that he should ready her for bed, but to what extent…? He didn't dare remove her lacy dress to replace it with her nightgown, though he trusted that he would have had the self-control to keep his eyes from wandering. Eventually he settled for taking her shoes off for her. After a moment's thought, he set the white high-heels on the floor and began removing pins from her hair so that she wouldn't stick herself if she turned in her sleep. Green locks, curled for the evening's event, tumbled down around her face and pooled across the pillows. Kent already missed the sensation of touching her hair when his task was finished, and so couldn't help reaching back to brush a few stray strands of it away from her face. She looked up at him through half-lidded eyes and ordered,

"Do that again."

Kent ignored that. "Go to sleep," he advised her gently. "I shall stand guard outside your door, so that you have nothing to worry about."

"I'm not tired," she insisted, folding her arms. Kent merely smiled and shook his head, turning to leave her…but she called him back.

"Kent…wait…Kent…?" She was struggling to sit up, and almost fell off the bed in the process, so he put his hands on her shoulders to lower her back down.

He wasn't expecting her to yank him down on top of her and kiss him soundly.

For a moment, Kent couldn't think. No words or pictures or emotions formed in his mind, he was simply and suddenly very aware of several things at once—the way her left hand was toying lazily with his hair, the delicate pelvis bones pressing into his stomach, her soft and yielding lips. He tried to tell himself that it was surprise that kept him from breaking the kiss sooner, though he knew better…and it was quite a long moment indeed before he finally jerked his head away with a gasp and scrambled off of her, falling off the bed in his haste to right the world again. He sat on the floor for a moment, trying to regain his breath and his bearings, until Lyn's flushed face appeared from over the edge of the bed.

"Silly Kent," she cooed, "What are you doing down there?"

He had no time to back away before she rolled off the bed herself and fell, giggling, into his lap.

"Milady," he tried to tell her, trying and failing at adopting a stern voice, "You need to get back into bed and--"

She cut him off by grasping his collar and pressing her lips to his again. The second kiss was harder to break than the first—his mouth responded automatically to the movements of hers, and he was suddenly struck with the overwhelming desire to pull her into his arms. She laughed deliriously when he did, and again when he kept trying to protest between kisses:

"Milady, this isn't decent…you aren't thinking…please, be reasonable…"

She wouldn't listen. Kent was losing his grip on his self control—it was already bad enough that his efforts to keep her away were half-hearted at best. "My lady," he tried, in one last, desperate attempt to argue with an intoxicated mind, "You're _drunk_."

"_You're _drunk," she returned saucily, sounding quite pleased with her retort, and moved her lips to his neck.

Kent inhaled sharply. She had a terribly, frightfully valid point—she was drunk, but he was not. And she was in his arms, in his lap, with her mouth on his skin, while his blood was racing through his veins with wild abandon. She obviously wouldn't resist at all if he tried to advance, and she might not even remember in the morning, and he was already going to be condemned for treason…what else did he have to lose? It would be so _easy_ to—

"No!" he cried suddenly, and tore away from her, pushing her off of him. _I am no better than the churlish men in the hallway!_

She actually stuck out her lower lip, glaring balefully at him through dark and hazy eyes as she lay limp on the floor. He was sorely tempted to lean back over and claim her lips again, but his shame kept him from acting.

"Why'd you stop?" she demanded, sounding for a moment like a spoiled child.

"This is what those nobles tried to do to you in the corridor," Kent managed to whisper through heaving, guilt-ridden breaths. His hands were shaking, though he couldn't tell which of his conflicting emotions caused that. Perhaps all of them. "Lady Lyndis…they were going to hurt you very badly. And now you're tempting me to do the same."

"Nuh-uh," she said, and clumsily sat up. Kent could sense from her pure, uninhibited smile that she wasn't about to kiss him again, but he couldn't help but stiffen slightly when she threw her arms around his waist and rested her head upon his shoulder. "Those were bad men. Smelled bad, tasted bad…"

Kent shuddered with anger at recalling the image of the Count Tuscana's mouth on Lyn's. _If only I hadn't missed his heart—oh, Elimine, what am I thinking? I've wounded a superior, a liege lord, and I'm not even sorry…_

"But you're not like them," Lyn mumbled happily, breaking his reverie as she snuggled deeper into his shirt. "I feel safe with you."

"Oh, milady…" Kent began to stroke her hair, suddenly overcome with emotion, watching as she closed her eyes and smiled like a satisfied cat. "That's all I've ever wanted."

He allowed himself to stay there for a moment more, simply holding her, before he sighed and began pulling her to her feet. "No matter what treasonous acts I may have committed this night, Lady Lyndis, your words have made me believe that I have ultimately fulfilled my duty. I will always keep you safe from all the evils in this world…"

Lyn had a mischievous sparkle in her dulled eyes, and she stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss him again, but he quickly backed away.

"And from yourself," he chided, gently guiding her towards her bed until she was lying down again. She just gazed back up at him, her face now a startlingly innocent picture of surprise and despair and suddenly broken hopes, and it took all of Kent's willpower to keep himself from lying down beside her and kissing that innocent look away until dawn arrived.

"And from me," he added in a whisper. She blinked once, and tears squeezed out and began streaming down her face.

"So it _is_ all just duty to you!" she accused, her voice quivering.

Kent was alarmed by her tears. "W-what? What's the matter, Lady Lyndis?"

"That's all you care about!" she cried. "Duty, duty, duty! That's why you did all this for me—it wasn't for _me_, it was just your job!"

"_What?_ What do you mean?"

She was weeping messily now, her face red and her nose running. "You helped me and you carried me and you kissed me back…and I thought…I thought you…"

She turned over and buried her face in the pillows, leaving Kent baffled and staring at her tangled tendrils of hair.

"M-my lady…no, that isn't--"

"Yes it is, yes it is, yes it is!" she protested. "It's all your duty! It's all because you _have_ to, not because you care!"

_It's more than that_, Kent wanted to say, but the words got stuck in his throat. _It's so much more than that._

Lyn lifted her head to glare at him, her eyes red-rimmed and watering still, and slammed a fist down against her coverlet. "You can just go away, then, if that's all this was! Go back to your stupid rules and stupid manners, and stop letting me pretend that we're friends!"

"Of course we're--!" Kent stopped himself before he could finish his own sentence. It was true…they _weren't_ friends. They a princess and a warlord and a foreigner, a knight and a guard and a familiar face. They were comrades-in-arms. They were companions, and they were _friendly_. But…friends? It was hard for Kent to call himself Lyndis' friend, considering that every time he looked at her he saw a lady in a station much higher than his own…and a woman that he admired very much.

Lyn's eyes filled with tears again to hear him break off, and her lip wobbled. "See? I'm right! Now go away!"

"Lady Lyndis," he protested gently, "You _know_ that I do this out of more than duty. Surely you know me better than to think such a thing."

"But it's always in your eyes!" she raged, sitting up so that she could look at him straight-on. "When I stand close to you, when I try to touch you, you always get this look that's screaming _get away_!"

"I'd never think such a thing!" Kent told her, shocked. "I just…I--"

She lunged towards him again, putting her hands on his shoulders as she sought his lips. Kent dodged just in time and grasped her own shoulders to push her away.

"Lady Lyndis, you shouldn't want this!" _You're making it too hard for me to do the right thing and say no!_

"But I love you!" she sobbed. "I want you so badly, sometimes—any bit of you, just a hug, just a smile! Why won't you feel the same way? What's wrong with me?"

"Lady Lyndis," Kent begged. His heart was staggering irregularly in his chest; for a moment he feared that he might faint. He wanted to slide the hands on her shoulders around to her back, to draw her into his arms, but his shock at her words prevented him from acting. She slapped her palms down hard on his chest, pushing him away. Then she flopped back down amongst her pillows, buried her face in her arms, and continued to weep. Kent closed his eyes.

"Lady Lyndis…"

She didn't respond. She simply cried to herself with small, whimpering sobs, and soon she had finally drifted off into a drunken sleep. Kent watched her sadly—how had his lady come to this? Tricked into such a state, her face flushed, her eyes swollen, her tongue wagging? He was sure that he could feel his heart tearing itself apart at hearing her tears. She looked miserable even in her sleep.

Kent couldn't stand it. Her happiness was his duty too, wasn't it? Not only as a knight…and not only as a friend. Gently, so as not to wake her, he reclined beside her and threw an arm around her waist, trying to cradle her to him as if he might calm her thoughts the way a mother could calm a newborn's cries.

"I love you, too," he whispered to her. "I just wouldn't ever be allowed to tell you that."

He wasn't even sure if he could take her confession seriously—she had been babbling all night, after all, and the drunk were hardly credible. But still…still, if she didn't love him at least a little, why the tears?

_Not that it matters_, he reminded himself. _She'll have forgotten most of this night by tomorrow, no doubt, and she will have never heard my own confession. All that matters is that she will be safe. And life will go on as usual from there._

* * *

Kent managed to doze a bit, lulled to sleep by the soft warmth of Lyn beneath his arm, but sharp voices outside her door snapped him awake.

"B-but you said that we had to search every room, sir, to find the traitor and bring him to Lord Hausen--"

"Not _that_ room, idiot, that's Lady Lyndis'! Do you really want to disturb her?"

"N-no, of course not, sir--"

"Then hurry down to that room at the end of the hallway! We have no time to waste!"

The sound of footsteps clomping against the stone floors faded away, and a chill ran through Kent.

_They're looking for me? Elimine, I have to get out before they come back and find me _here!

He quickly removed his arm from around Lyn and slid off of the bed. She didn't even stir. The room was dark, though not drastically so—grey light seeped through the linen-veiled windows, informing Kent that it was almost dawn. He tiptoed through Lyn's receiving chamber and pressed his ear against the ornate door, waiting for a long moment to be sure that the hallway was empty. Finally he dared to open the door a crack and peer around. When he saw that the coast was clear, he chanced a single glance back at Lyn's limp form, carefully closed her door behind him, and hurried down the hallway in the opposite way that the guards had gone earlier.

He could have made his way through the shadows, hiding behind suits of armor and peeking around corners before he turned them…but Kent knew that he would get caught eventually, and knew that sneaking around would get him nowhere. He walked at his normal pace, with his normal gait, and did not run into anyone. Eventually he reached the end of the corridor, where a pair of large glass double-doors opened up to a white balcony overlooking the orchard. Kent walked out into the cool morning air and leaned against the balcony railing with a weary sigh, intending to watch the sunrise until somebody found him to bring him to Lord Hausen.

Everything was calm for quite a while. The sky lightened to a vibrant shade of pink as the sun rippled up from the horizon, fiery and orange. Birds peeped quietly from down below, and every once in a while a soft breeze would caress the treetops, causing them to whisper slightly. Kent felt oddly at peace. Even if he had managed to make himself a criminal in the span of a single night, Lyndis was safe. In his heart, he did not feel like he had done anything wrong…

…Ah, except for kissing her. And making her cry. And spending the night at her side, however chastely. He touched his lips as he thought, feeling guilt start to well up within him. _Yes, I shall deserve whatever befalls me when I am finally discovered…_

No sooner had he thought such a thing than a rough voice behind him cried, "There! Seize him!" Kent didn't turn, and hardly reacted as two pairs of hands grabbed his elbows. He did notice that the fingers on his left arm were noticeably gentler, however, and resignedly turned his head towards their owner. It was Wil's brown eyes that met his own.

"Why, Sir Kent?" the archer asked in a whisper. His face was surprised and haggard and something much worse…betrayed. Kent bowed his head and did not reply as he was marched back inside the castle.

* * *

Kent's mind was numb when his arms were finally released and he was ushered into a conference room that branched out from the throne room. He supposed that he was brought there because of privacy—as opposed to the throne room itself, where servants and advisors would be milling about, this room was small and plain. It contained only a long wooden table and a large map of Lycia pinned against the far wall, although the windows that took up most of another of the walls lit the place with morning sunlight and lessened the severity somewhat. Hausen was already in the room, standing with his back to the door.

A guard spoke from behind Kent: "Milord, shall we--"

"No," said Hausen softly, but crisply enough to make the soldier silence himself. "Thank you. That will be all."

The man immediately left, and Wil shot Kent a helpless glance before he followed, shutting the heavy door behind him. Hausen did not turn for a long moment. Kent immediately fell to one knee, as he had the day he had sworn fealty to that very man, his shoulders tingling from the touch of the ceremonial sword and his heart aflame with devotion. Although he was still utterly dazed by his own actions and predicament, he did know one thing—he had to protect Lyn's reputation, no matter the cost. By the time Hausen had turned to face him, Kent had already formulated a drastic lie.

"A young group of nobles came to me last night," said Hausen finally, his voice uncannily impassive. "The count of Tuscana was bleeding from a wound on his shoulder. They told me that a young knight with red hair, claiming to be Lyndis's guardian, turned his lance upon them and attacked them." Hausen tilted his head slightly, studying Kent with his piercing pale eyes. "Red hair is uncommon in Lycians…you are the only knight that their description matched, Kent. Do you deny the charges?"

"No, my lord," Kent whispered, and bowed his head in shame.

"Will you explain yourself?" the marquess asked delicately. Kent's eyes flew open with alarm when he realized that Hausen had actually _asked_ him, rather than ordered. His voice was gentle, not stern. That confused Kent.

He took a deep breath and gathered the courage he needed to utter his next few words: "I was…I was drunk, milord."

"So I was told," Hausen retorted with a grave nod. "The young men insisted that you were intoxicated…but I don't understand why you would harm one of them upon mere impulse."

"It wasn't impulse," Kent blurted out, before he could stop himself. He kept his head down as he continued. "It…seemed rational to me, at the time, although this morning I know that it was not. They were escorting Lady Lyndis to her room for the night, because she had hurt her ankle…and I…" He gritted his teeth against the lie, but forced himself to tell it: "I misinterpreted their intentions, and flew into a rage, and wounded one. Lady Lyndis calmed me down, and they left peacefully. Yet she still…couldn't walk, so I helped her to her room as best I could."

Hausen turned his gaze towards the windows and did not look back. His strong, lined face was impassive as he stared at the view outside, a thoughtful hand at his chin. "And where did you go after that, Kent? The guards could not find you until morning. There were very few places that they did not look."

Kent swallowed hard. It would be too difficult to lie himself out of this question—not that he could bring himself to lie any more to Lord Hausen, anyway. It was simply too nerve-wracking, too painful. The only thing that kept him from blurting out the truth about why last night had been such chaos was the thought of Lyndis.

"I…spent the night in her room, milord," he breathed. When Hausen looked over his way sharply, Kent clenched his eyes shut.

"You…_what_?" Marquess Caelin's voice was now decidedly formidable. Kent felt himself tremble, and willed himself to keep speaking.

"In her room," he mumbled. "Nothing indecent happened, my lord, I swear to you. Lyndis went to sleep in her own bed, and I…found a couch in her receiving chamber."

"…You aren't telling me the truth, Kent," Hausen whispered sadly.

Kent actually felt tears spring to his eyes. "N-no, milord, I would never--!"

"Please." Hausen's eyes bored into his very soul. "You've already broken so many of your vows of Chivalry…don't break another."

Shame flooded through Kent, so acute that he crumpled to both knees and struggled to keep his tears from flowing freely. His voice cracked when he spoke: "A-alright…I…I slept beside her…I kept my arm around her waist…I k-kissed her, my lord, time and again…" He had to stop speaking, for fear that his words would subside into sobs, and clenched his eyes shut with the agony of his guilt.

"No, that wasn't what I meant." Hausen sounded alarmed. "I just wanted you to admit that you were not drunk, last night. Because I _know_ that you were not."

Kent's eyes snapped open. "M-my lord?"

Hausen turned away again, clasping his hands loosely behind his back and returning his gaze to the view beyond the window. "I have never seen you drink to excess in all the years I've known you—a decade, now, correct?—although several of your friends seem to enjoy their ale. I know you, Kent, and I know that you are simply not that sort of man." Hausen glanced back at him. "I am no fool. When young Erik of Laus and the rest of his friends came to me to complain about you, I knew that they had been drinking. Most of what they said was nonsense that I simply couldn't believe—you, such a level-headed young man, pointing your weapon towards a superior? _Wounding_ him? Besides…" Marquess Caelin now peered down at Kent, giving the knight the full intensity of his gaze. "I had not seen any wine in your hands the entire evening. How could you possibly be drunk on naught but air?"

"…I'm sorry," Kent whispered.

"Why did you lie?" Hausen whispered back. "I want the truth from you, Sir Kent, commander of the knights of Caelin." _That_ time, the marquess spoke an order.

"I…wanted to protect her," Kent murmured. His lies quickly unraveled; he had no choice but to bare Lyn's reputation to her grandfather's stern eyes. "_She _was the drunk one, my lord. But if anyone found that out…forgive me, Lord Hausen, but it has always seemed to me that she finds it hard enough to adjust to court life. She encounters many problems because of her heritage alone, and..."

"That is true enough." Hausen's face softened slightly, sadly.

Kent swallowed hard and continued. "It would be much easier for me to insist that it was _I_ who was intoxicated, to spare her dishonor."

"And bring it upon yourself?" asked the marquess quietly. Kent dared to lift his head, finally, and meet his gaze.

"I'd rather me than her."

Hausen stared at him for a long moment, then began to pace in thought. "So, you made up your own version of last night's events to protect her reputation…yet now, hearing drunken accusations through one ear and lies through the other, I have no credible account of those events at all." He stopped and fixed Kent with a sharp look. "You said that you were in her room—why?"

"That was also to protect her, my lord."

"With kisses?" the older man quipped dryly. Kent felt himself blush furiously.

"N-no! Forgive me, my lord, forgive me, I _did_ kiss her…but then I stopped myself. I could never take advantage of her--although as soon as I had stopped, she began to weep." Kent's heart pinched at the mere memory. "I think it was because she had been through so much, last evening, and she was simply confused and tired. But she ordered me to leave and I…I could not. Not while she was still so sad, and all due to a fault of mine. She fell asleep soon after." The knight paused slightly before adding, "She had also dismissed her servants for the night. I felt that I needed to make sure that she didn't start wandering around. She could have…met with danger."

"How much did she have to drink?"

"I…I lost count, my lord."

Hausen frowned slightly. "I doubt that my Lyndis would be able to hold more than a glass or two…pray tell, how did you ever get her to her room?"

"I had to carry her, my lord." Kent ducked his head again to avoid another sharp glance from his liege. "She tripped up the stairs, and I thought it would be best to avoid any more accidents. I told the passerby that she had twisted her ankle."

"Another lie," Hausen pointed out, almost absent-mindedly. Kent wished that the floor would crack open and swallow him up into a burning, bottomless pit. "Still, you have yet to answer one of the most important questions: why did you turn your weapon upon a lord of Lycia?"

Kent was silent for a long moment, trying to phrase his words within his head. He didn't want to talk about the incident—he could hardly _think_ about it without wanting to curl up in disgust.

"They were…going to harm Lady Lyndis, my lord," he finally said softly. "It was all a _scheme_ of theirs, to get her drunk and then take her out into the corridor…to…have their way with her. I-I came across them and told them to leave her be, but they would not listen…I had to threaten them with my lance…and still, they hassled her--!" Kent broke off for a moment to regain his composure. He didn't dare look at Hausen. "They spoke of terrible things, milord--all of the horrible, _vile_ things that they were going to do to her while she was too weak to defend herself, and I was so frightened and angry that I…lost my self-control." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I hit the lord's shoulder, but I had aimed for his heart."

Hausen said nothing. Kent knew that he had committed one of the highest forms of treason, and kept his eyes on the floor, accepting his fate. "I will readily agree to any punishment that you set for me, milord. I am not worthy even to ask for your forgiveness…yet I _do_ have something to ask of you. Please…keep those men away from Lady Lyndis."

Kent closed his eyes as he stayed there on the floor, trembling on his hands and knees, waiting for an expulsion from the army or a number of lashes to be given or even a death sentence…but nothing came. Instead, strong hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him to his feet. Kent's eyes flared open as Hausen pulled him into a brief but tight embrace and fiercely whispered, "I wish that you _had_ killed him!"

"M-my lord--" said Kent dazedly, but Marquess Caelin had already pulled away. He settled his hands back on Kent's shoulders and held him an arm's length away, smiling paternally.

"Thank you," he murmured, "for saving my granddaughter."

_It was my duty_, Kent started to say, but he bit his tongue before he could. He knew that wasn't what Lyndis would have wanted to hear. Instead, he replied, "I will be there for her whenever she needs me."

Hausen closed his eyes; his smile widened. "I know you will."

He released Kent and turned away, back to the window. "You are free to go then, Kent. You are cleared of all charges."

"Thank you, milord," Kent murmured faintly, and sank into a low bow even though Marquess Caelin could not see it. He made for the door, but as soon as he had opened it, Hausen softly added,

"And, Kent?"

The knight froze. "Yes, milord?"

Hausen still didn't turn to look at him. "I had better not ever see my granddaughter kissing you again."

"O-of course, my lord. It shall never happen again." Reddening once more, his heart sinking within him, Kent took a step out the door—

"Kent."

He stopped a second time, confused, and looked back to see that Hausen was glancing at him, a smirk on his thin lips.

"…Of course, Sir Kent, I am an old man. My eyes are beginning to fail me."

The knight slowly felt himself smile. "I…believe that I understand, my lord."

"Good." Hausen turned back to the window and shooed Kent away with a nonchalant hand gesture. "You may take your leave."

* * *

Kent sighed deeply as he made his way back to the knight's barracks, still trembling. The shock of what had just happened—what had _been_ happening, ever since last night—had finally faded away, leaving only fatigue in its wake. He would have liked nothing better than to collapse onto his bunk and sleep the day away…or at least sleep for an hour, before he would have to get back up and monitor morning drills. However, as he turned the corner to the hallway containing his room, he saw something that made him stop in his tracks.

Lyn was leaning against his door, biting her lower lip. She had changed out of her dress from last night and back into her usual Sacaen garb, though her hair still curled slightly as it spilled down from the band she used to tie it up. Right now that ponytail was facing Kent as Lyn looked down the hallway—doubtlessly searching for him.

"Do you need me for something, milady?" he asked her softly, stepping into view. She whipped her head around to face him, and then immediately winced, her hand flying to her temple.

Kent was at her side in two long strides. "What is the matter, Lady Lyndis?"

She smiled at him weakly. "I have a terrible headache. And…I think I need to speak to you."

"About what, milady?" He tried to keep his sudden concern from his voice, but it leaked in anyway.

Lyn looked away for a moment, thinking, before she ventured, "What happened, last night?"

Kent froze. He was sure that if he opened his mouth, all that would come out was a long and floundering "Uhm…", but Lyn continued speaking.

"I can't remember a lot of last night, Kent. I don't like the feeling. I just…thought that you might be able to tell me what is going on, because I do remember _you_…"

"M-me?" Kent wasn't sure whether to be joyful or terrified. "Er…what about me do you remember, exactly?"

"I'm not completely sure," Lyn murmured. "I know that I felt scared…but then you were with me, and I did not. And for a while I was floating…and there was warmth…" She trailed off thoughtfully, and her fingertips touched lightly—absentmindedly—against her lips. "Kent, was I…drunk?"

Kent swallowed hard before softly admitting, "Yes, my lady."

A look of abject humiliation washed over her face, and she quickly covered it with a slim hand. "Ohh…truly?"

"Truly."

"Father Sky," she moaned. "And I can't remember anything! Kent, tell me what happened last night—what did I do?"

"Nothing, milady," he was quick to assure her. "When I realized that you…weren't faring well, I brought you back to your room. No one else noticed anything, and nothing happened."

"Kent." She lowered the hand from her face to glance in his direction, her emerald eyes burning with their usual defiance. "You are a terrible liar."

He felt himself flush. "N-no, milady, I--"

"Something _must_ have happened!" she pressed. "When I woke up this morning, my eyes were swollen, as if I had been crying. Wil asked me about my ankles, and I had no idea what he was talking about. The count of Tuscana has acquired a mysterious wound on his shoulder and the nobles are in an uproar…and when I saw Sain this morning, he told me that you didn't return to your room, last night!"

Kent opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. Finally, he managed to choke out, "Everything will be fine, milady. It was quite a hectic night…those things have nothing to do with you…" _Technically, they were all MY fault..._

"If you say so…" Lyn shrugged her shoulders up before falling silent. Kent could think of nothing else to say. After a moment, Lyn blushed—almost imperceptibly—and asked in a small voice,

"Kent? While you were with me last night…did I…say anything to you?"

"What do you mean, milady?"

"I mean…perhaps I said something that I might not have ordinarily said. Drunken babble," she added with a slightly bitter laugh.

_"But I love you! I want you so badly, sometimes—any bit of you, just a hug, just a smile! Why won't you feel the same way? What's wrong with me?"_

"Well, there was--" Kent immediately stopped himself, realizing too late that he had fallen too deeply into his new and most precious memory of her. "Er…no, you were rather quiet, milady."

Her eyes widened with panic; her fingers shot out and gripped his arm. "There was _what_? What did I say?"

"Nothing!" he insisted. "Like you said—drunken babble! Everyone's lips loosen when they--"

"What _was_ it, Kent?!"

"My lady, it doesn't matter! Surely, _surely_ it didn't mean anything!"

She still looked unbelieving, but perhaps her headache was too great for her to continue arguing with him—which he was certain she would have done under any other circumstance. Instead, she merely relinquished her grip on his arm. After a while, he realized that she had not given up, but had switched her focus to another question.

"There's something else…" she said slowly. "Kent…why do I feel that I need to thank you for something?"

He smiled thinly. "You shouldn't thank me, milady. I believe that I've only made things harder for you."

She was quiet for a long moment, but finally said with her usual determination and conviction, "Please tell me what happened."

He couldn't refuse her. The story poured out—the leers of the men in the hallway, the way she tripped on the stairs, the fib that he told to Wil, ending with him crossing the threshold of her room. He wasn't about to tell her any more than that, and prayed that she wouldn't ask him. He seemed to be in luck, considering that as soon as he had told her about the terrible deeds of Erik, Count Tuscana, and their friends, Lyn had been too angry to pay attention to the rest of his story.

"I can't believe it!" she seethed, starting to pace angrily and throwing her hands up in the air. "What terrible men! Is this what honor comes to, in this country?! Why, I ought to--" Her hand went straight to her hip, but she broke off when she realized that the Sol Katti wasn't hanging there.

"Please don't worry, Lady Lyndis," said Kent gently. "I have already spoken to your grandfather…those men shall never bother you again."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Lyn retorted. She looked up at him, her green eyes wide and innocent. "Aren't _you_ in a lot of trouble for this?"

Kent smiled reassuringly. "No, milady. Lord Hausen understood that I had only done--" He cut himself off before he could finish his sentence: _--what any man would do for the woman he loves._

"Your duty," Lyn finished for him, her face blank and her eyes slightly dolorous. That glimmer of sadness pulled Kent right back to the previous night, watching her weep and aching to stop her from doing so.

"No," Kent contradicted quietly. Her gaze flicked back to his, surprised, and he suddenly remembered a dozen things—the softness of her hair, the way she said his name, how her grandfather closed his eyes and smiled with his hands on Kent's shoulders. "It wasn't simply duty. It was…"

Words failed him. She was still staring up at him, and it was all too easy to remember the taste of her lips from the night before, her grandfather's subtle blessing. Kent was sick of lying--to Wil, to Hausen, to _himself. _He loved Lyndis, and would do anything for her--duty played no role. Before she could react, before he could lose courage, he took her face in his hands and kissed her softly.

She smiled incredulously when he pulled away. "Kent...?"

"Does that answer anything?" he asked in a murmur.

"I think…that answers a lot." She locked eyes with him for a long moment, but suddenly her grin faded and she whispered, "That doesn't answer _all _of my questions, though. I still don't know why I was crying, or why you weren't in your room."

Kent chuckled nervously and turned his face away, immediately regretting his decision for truth. "Er, well, I can't say I know the answers to those."

"Kent," she said warningly.

"Milady, I really don't--"

"_Kent._"

"Yes?" he asked innocently. Her eyes narrowed, and before he knew it, she reached out and took his hand.

She held it for a moment, and Kent was pleasantly surprised by how intimate it felt, how well her palm fit against his own. She threaded her fingers through his…and then began to walk down the corridor, pulling him along after her.

"My lady?" he asked, baffled, "Where are we going?"

"To the kitchens," she retorted. When she turned back to look at him over her shoulder, her eyes were decidedly mischievous. "Didn't you just say that _everyone's_ lips loosen with alcohol?"

"L-lady Lyndis, I don't think that's quite the truth--"

"We'll find out," she interrupted, almost cheerfully. "It's _your_ turn to get good and drunk."

* * *

_A/N: I guess I just poured lamesauce all over my ending. And I completely and accidentally changed the tone with it. Oh wellz. Senior year and three in the morning KO'd my ability to care._

_So, actually, even though I was really reluctant about writing this at first, and it didn't turn out very well, it was still a lot of fun. Also…it was totally worth it, since now the front page is spammed with KENTxLYN! FINALLY! Aaaaaand cue diabolical laughter. Feedback equals love._


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